The bus rattled along the winding mountain road, the trees outside swaying as though whispering secrets to one another. Inside, the hum of the engine drowned out idle chatter.
Amira sat by the window, her reflection staring back at her—bald, serene, yet undeniably strong. She had chosen this. It wasn’t sickness, nor sorrow, that had taken her hair; it was resolve.
For years, she had been weighed down by the expectations of others: how to dress, how to act, how to simply exist. Every strand of hair had felt like a rope binding her to someone else’s idea of who she should be. Until one day, she took the razor, watched the locks fall, and felt—finally—free.
The passengers occasionally glanced her way, curiosity flickering in their eyes, but Amira didn’t flinch. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, the black and white patterns resembling wings in motion. She was no longer afraid of being seen.
The bus jolted to a stop. A child clambered aboard, clutching his mother’s hand. He turned, spotted Amira, and smiled—an open, innocent smile. She smiled back, and in that fleeting moment, she knew.
This journey wasn’t about leaving something behind—it was about moving forward. Toward the unknown, toward the freedom of becoming wholly herself.
As the bus rolled on, Amira closed her eyes, listening not to the hum of the engine anymore, but to the quiet rhythm of her own heartbeat—the sound of a new chapter beginning.